


The Storm

by KittieHill



Series: Prompts [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Inexperience, Tent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt fill for this: Imagine your OTP/OT3 in a tent during a lightning storm.</p><p>I know nothing about camping and some of the details might not add up but we don't read fanfic for the background details... it's all about the penis.</p><p>Not beta'd, not for profit. Please comment!</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for this: Imagine your OTP/OT3 in a tent during a lightning storm.
> 
> I know nothing about camping and some of the details might not add up but we don't read fanfic for the background details... it's all about the penis.
> 
> Not beta'd, not for profit. Please comment!

‘Why couldn’t we get a hotel?’ Sherlock asked angrily, scowling at the metal poles which seemed to be the crux of the issue,

‘Because we’re in the middle of nowhere’ John sighed ‘and you insisted that you didn’t want the crime scene tampered with which meant that we were late to get the last train home’

‘Yes… but why couldn’t we get a hotel?’ Sherlock complained ‘Why do we have to sleep in a tent?’

John stared at Sherlock and grit his teeth ‘Because’ he hissed quietly ‘you insisted on shouting at the CSI’s and upsetting the detective inspector ensuring that we missed the last train home and the next hotel is miles away and nobody would give us a lift’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared at the instructions to the simple tent ‘This is impossible’

‘Go find some wood for a fire’ John ordered, his anger slowly building to an almost feverish heat in his stomach.

* * *

 

Sherlock muttered as he walked into the forest to look for firewood, he hated the outdoors, he had never wanted to go camping as a child and thankfully it was never expected of him or Mycroft. The detective picked up a bundle of dry sticks and used his time away from John to quickly empty his bladder ( _the absolute embarrassment of having to go outside!)_ and look at an interesting specimen of moss, wondering whether he could take a sample back to Baker Street for an experiment.

He decided against it, walking back to John with an armful of kindling and smiling as the doctor finished erecting the tent.

‘Home sweet home’ Sherlock grumbled, dropping the sticks to the floor and looking into the tiny space where the two men would be spending the night together.

* * *

 

The two men sat on the outstretched fabric of Sherlock’s coat, the detective had complained that the mud would never come out of the material but John had insisted that as it was Sherlock’s fault, he would have to grin and bear it. Thankfully the doctor had come prepared and had purchased sandwiches ( _along with the tent, sleeping bags and lighter)_ from the service station on the way back from the crime scene allowing them to eat before it became dark. John started the fire, reminiscing about his army days and the endless hours sitting around chatting shit with other soldiers around the campfire. He decided to use the opportunity to learn more about his best friend;

‘What’s your earliest memory?’ John asked, lying on his back on the coat

‘Why?’ Sherlock asked, suspicious of John’s motives

‘Because I just thought we could chat for a while’ John shrugged before chuckling ‘I remember going on a family holiday to Blackpool. Harry was sick the entire way there but still insisted on going on the rides and eating candy floss when we got there’

‘My Grandmeres back garden’ Sherlock smiled ‘We were having a picnic with Redbeard. He stole her last sausage’

‘You never talk about Redbeard’ John replied ‘What happened?’

‘I loved him very much’ Sherlock smiled sadly ‘After Mycroft left he was my only friend and we spent every minute together… but he got old’

‘He died?’ John asked quietly, feeling slightly guilty at forcing Sherlock to talk

‘He got ill. He went to the vets one day and never came back’ Sherlock whispered before looking out over the trees into the sunset ‘Mycroft said he had left to live on a farm but I knew he had been put down. I was upset that Mycroft lied rather than tell me the truth’

‘How old were you?’ John asked,

‘8’ Sherlock added ‘Mycroft was 15, I think he thought that he was protecting me from the truth but I’d already figured it out’

‘That’s sad’ John replied

‘Everything dies John’ Sherlock rolled his eyes, ‘It was sad when I was 8. I rather think I’ve gotten over it’

John shook his head and dropped the conversation.

* * *

 

The rumbling grew louder as Sherlock grew quieter and more reserved, pulling his knees up and hugging them closer to his body. John had never known Sherlock to be scared and the thought of him being afraid of thunder and lightning was almost humorous.

‘You alright Sherlock?’ John asked cautiously

‘Fine, absolutely fine, why wouldn’t I be fine?’ Sherlock responded angrily, his eyes lingering on the dark foreboding clouds above,

‘It’s just… you look nervous’ John said tentatively,

A crack of thunder rolled around the air around the trees causing Sherlock to whimper nervously from his seat beside John. His eyes wide and panicked as he grabbed for Johns hand tightly,

‘Hey, hey it’s okay,’ John soothed, holding Sherlock’s hand tightly ‘Do you want to go inside?’

Sherlock wordlessly nodded, his body trembling and thrumming with nervous energy as the flash of lightning followed.

‘Okay, let’s get undressed and get into the sleeping bags’ John soothed,

‘J-John’ Sherlock whimpered, refusing to let go of John’s hand

‘Oh… okay,’ John said nervously, helping Sherlock up and stooping to get into the tent.

Once inside John pulled his arm from his jumper and dragged it over his arm, stopping when he realised that his other hand was stuck inside the fabric without releasing Sherlock’s death grip. John swapped hands, entwining their other hand as he took off his jumper and unbuttoned his jeans, leaving him in T-shirt and pants.

Sherlock stood statue still, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he nervously hunched over,

John looked at the frozen and hunched man beside him, running a comforting hand over Sherlock’s arm he softly and slowly helped the younger man undress down to his own vest and pants before moving to seat the detective on the floor whilst he organised their sleeping bags.

John unzipped both, lying one flat onto the groundsheet and helping Sherlock to lay down before lying beside his friend and covering them with the second unzipped cover. Sherlock was still trembling and whimpering with each peel of thunder,

‘Sherlock, breathe for me. You need to relax or you’re going to hyperventilate’ John soothed, his hands running up and down Sherlock’s spine calmly. Sherlock nodded and calmed his breathing, inhaling and exhaling along with John’s soothing movements until the anxiety attack had passed. John stroked Sherlock’s back and hair until the younger man finally crashed, his eyes closing slowly into sleep.

John lay for a moment deep in thought; he had never seen Sherlock react so strongly to something as silly as the weather. He knew that some people found Thunder and Lightning to be scary but it was mainly children who didn’t understand the mechanics behind it. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to be scared of something so easy to explain.

He rested his hand under his head and attempted to move his other hand from Sherlock’s spine only to be stopped by Sherlock entwining their fingers and moving the doctor’s hand to his stomach, slightly above his navel.

John froze and internally panicked as he was pressed close to his best friend; Sherlock’s back now rested against John’s front, his boxer-clad arse rubbing against the half hard bulge in John’s own underwear. John attempted to pull away but the pathetic whine which escaped Sherlock’s lips made him feel guilty for thinking about it.

‘John’ Sherlock whispered, ‘I’m sorry’

John cringed at the thought that Sherlock felt bad for being afraid around his best friend and mentally berated himself for his ridiculousness.

‘Don’t be. Its okay, you’re okay. We’re fine’ John replied into the soft skin of Sherlock’s shoulders more for his own benefit than Sherlock’s.

‘No… I mean… I’m sorry’ Sherlock hissed, his remaining hand covering his face as he blushed.

John didn’t understand why Sherlock was apologising; deciding to ignore the statement he simply stroking his hand up and down Sherlock’s long, thin stomach and chest, his hand travelling from clavicle to the waistband of his underwear,

_Where he finally understood why Sherlock was apologising._

His hand brushed against the hardness pressed against the fabric. Heat travelled through John’s face and he stilled his hand momentarily before continuing back up towards Sherlock’s neck.

‘It’s fine’ the doctor whispered ‘natural reaction’

The ground on which the tent stood seemed to shake with a huge rumble of thunder; Sherlock immediately tensed and whimpered, pushing back into John’s body and crying out with alarm until John hushed him softly,

Sherlock was beginning to work himself up again, his breath coming fast and hurried and his heart pounding in his chest.

John realised he needed to distract the panicking detective; he steeled his nerves before moving his hand down, lower, until his hand cupped the leaking bulge standing proudly in Sherlock’s underwear.

‘J-John?’ Sherlock asked nervously, quietening immediately when John shushed him kindly and wiggled his hand into Sherlock’s pants. His thumb and finger created a circle in which he held Sherlock tightly and stroked him, getting the detective used to the sensations.

Sherlock gasped at the first contact; never having had anybody else touch him so intimately. John stroked him slowly, a steady rhythm of _up, down, up, down_ until Sherlock could feel himself leaking copious liquid over John’s fingers. His hips thrusting shakily into the tight ring of John’s hand,

The detective hid his face in his large hand; embarrassed and shy at his reaction to such base needs. John brought his other hand around Sherlock’s neck to hold him close, his fingers skimming over Sherlock’s hardened nipples as he held his best friend securely as his other hand moved to bring him closer to his release, John added a twist to his wrist and listened as Sherlock gasped and moaned, a desperate keen escaping his throat as John stroked harder and faster, his own breathing huffing onto Sherlock’s sensitive neck and sending shivers down his spine.

‘That’s it’ John soothed, his breathing hitching as he caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s lust blown eyes and red, bitten lips ‘That’s so good Sherlock’

Sherlock gasped a final time; his eyes closing tightly and his back arching into the warmth of John’s body as his climax crashed over him like a tidal wave,

‘John… oh god, John, Something… something’s happening’ Sherlock whimpered ‘Oh god it feels good’

‘Relax Sherlock’ John whispered ‘let it go. Come for me’

Sherlock moaned and bit his lip as his cock began to shoot into the fabric of his boxers; rope after rope of white cum coating the inside of his underwear as he writhed and desperately chased the sensations for a few more perfect seconds. John stroked him through his release, stopping when Sherlock hissed with oversensitivity.

John removed his hand and immediately grabbed his own cock; he was no longer embarrassed or shy over his needs which had grown intensely during Sherlock’s orgasm. His cock twitched and leaked with neglect as John used Sherlock’s ejaculate to wank himself furiously, tugging and twisting his wrist. Sherlock pulled down his boxers to expose his arse to John who immediately pulled down his own underwear and thrust against the soft, unblemished skin of Sherlock’s arse cheek. His right hand still holding Sherlock close as his other rested on the detective’s thigh, pulling him closer and thrusting wildly on to the skin until his climax approached

‘Sherlock’ John managed to groan before his own peak washed over him and ribbons of cum coated the pale skin in long stripes.

John’s orgasm soon finished and the two men were left sated and slightly embarrassed at the turn of events.

‘Well… goodnight’ Sherlock mumbled into his hand as John pulled off his vest and began to clean Sherlock’s skin.

‘Fuck it’ John grumbled, pulling Sherlock’s chin around at an awkward angle to ensure that they could kiss. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, more teeth and tongue than John would have normally liked but the thought that it was Sherlock; _his Sherlock_ was enough for his cock to give another twitch of interest.

‘Goodnight’ John smiled after the two men pulled away, staring at one another in the darkness of the tent.

* * *

 

An hour later Sherlock awoke in the arms of his best friend, their skin touching and John’s breath tickling his ear. His phone was vibrating and lighting up the tent, grabbing it he quickly saw Mycroft’s name and sighed, answering it with a note of disdain,

‘What do you want?’

‘Is that any way to speak to your brother?’ Mycroft sighed ‘It’s like you were raised by wolves’

‘Okay, what do you want Mycroft’ Sherlock rolled his eyes ‘I’m busy’

‘Sleeping in a tent with your Doctor Watson? I’m sure you are brother dear’ Mycroft stifled a chuckle ‘Never mind then’

‘Why did you call?’ Sherlock was becoming irate, his voice had already woken John who blinked and rubbed his eyes at the unfamiliar surroundings.

‘get dressed. A helicopter will be there in 15 minutes. I have a case I need you to look at’ Mycroft answered

‘Fine’ Sherlock smiled ‘Can you provide me with clean pants please?’

‘Clean pa-…’ Mycroft started before quietening immediately ‘yes,’

‘Thank you. Brother mine’ Sherlock smiled before ending the call.

‘Case?’ John asked sleepily

‘I intend on telling Mycroft to sod off, but at least we have a lift’ Sherlock grinned before blushing slightly and pressing a tentative kiss to John’s lips.


End file.
